When I was the Rat... [CLOSED]

[futilecycle]

Who | Sigma and the Initiate Fraysong.
What | Sigma becomes a mole.
When | Forward dated to a few weeks after the Arena, during the day.
Where | A surveillance blind spot in a Capitol residential area.
Warnings/Notes | Reference to bombs and being shot. Set up for a mod-approved player plot that will have sign ups after the Arena. World is on vacation now so we're starting early for timing purposes.


Sigma's fingers sweat grooves into the parchment of his paperback book, frozen on a page he hasn't read. Following the approval of his release petition, he had decided to make the switch from the digitized readers he was familiar with to ink and paper. White backlight would ruin his organic eye, and without the reanimation the Arena provided, the hallmarks of age would be permanent.

Provided he lived long enough to worry about his health.

For hours his eyes stumble over the same words without comprehension. Eventually he thinks to turn the page, to suggest reading for the sake of passers by, but his cybernetic fingers pinch the paper too tightly and the words split from their sentences in a diagonal line.

Sigma closes the book and leans back against the bench. The skin beneath his eyes has already bruised black from lack of sleep - even after only a week on the job, there was less rest in Capitol Defense than there had been in the Arena. He worked late hours and used his mornings to read outside, not for the sake of research but to maintain the illusion that reading was his hobby. His morning routine was strict and consistent: he would walk in a circuit around the Capitol residential area, always stopping to read in a different, progressively quieter space. His new occupation had taught him to identify the size, range and direction of a Capitol bug, and over several days he'd created a mental map of where the cameras intersected. There was one area of a particular park where they did not.

A smarter man would wait longer than a week to stab his new employer in the back, but if a Rebellion were to mobilize, they were rapidly losing their opportunity. This morning Sigma did not bother to sleep, and set out early. At the start of his walk (it was imperative the meeting followed shortly after the message) he called the Initiate over the Tribute network, chatting leisurely as he made his way to the park across the road.

"If you would like to catch up in person, I have taken to reading in the afternoons outside of my new quarters. There is a bench not far from the complex with a beautiful view of the water..."

By nightfall there would be another camera overlooking the river.

Comments

[carnagecarnival]

It ain't a skill. Its a defence. Its a last desperate route as to keep from destroying himself. Maybe he did learn something from his past life without knowing. Kurloz learned to quiet himself, to drown his rage. He learned to make it a weapon. He learned how to be a monster and monsters don't feel pain.

He thought he couldn't kill anymore. He thought his Avoxing had crushed this. He realises now. All this time, it was just sleeping. The Grand Highblood was always there in wait. He'll never be rid. But in this moment, he doesn't want to be.

They held his lusus. They tamed that beast and put it down. They stood up his scion and ended him. No ceremony. No grace. No reprieve. This went deeper than personal loss. Gamzee was the bringer of the angels, their guide, and so key to the rise of the Messiahs. He was their chosen one by Messiahs wills, and the sacrifice of his own past life was for Gamzee's victory.

The Capitol has done something unspeakable. They have committed sin against the Messiahs beyond imagining. And he is tired of his chains.

There's a terrible crack, as the bench is crushed under his fingers, like it's being none more than mere wet sand. The red of his eyes burns over until they're nothing but a solid bright glow, shining even in the daylight. He stands up, back to Sigma, where the Avoxed self would be there to wipe the tear and blood clean. The Highblood lifts his chin.

"MISTAKES WERE MADE. All of mistaking were they when they brought him here." Slowly, a smile comes over him. A wide, fanged grin. "FOR A WHILE THERE, SIGMA, DID THINK THEY HAD CRUSHED HIM. Did think they were so kind as to snuff him out. SO THAT A DIFFERENT TROLL COULD STAND AS THE ONE WHAT SPEAKS TO YOU NOW. But he sees now. HE SEES HE WAS WRONG! Heh... oh Sigma," He breathes, in shuddering tones, "He understands now. HE UNDERSTANDS THE TRUTH. And don't they know. DON'T THEY GOT SINGLE MOTHER FUCKING INKLING UP IN PAN? I am he what burns his brightest, what hangs his loves, and what kills his lusus, and what makes fuel of his dearest saviors..." He laughs once, barely more than a breath. Then again. Louder and uncontrolled, sacrificing his breath for the sake of its being. He turns around to face Sigma, arms spread wide. "I AM THE CROWNED PRINCE OF RAGE!" He roars. And then putting falsely benevolent smile, he says, soft, leaning in close so Sigma can hear his whisper. "And so a Grand Highblood is going to show them how... grateful he is."

[futilecycle]

The crunch startles him awake and, with a strangled cry, Sigma straightens. His cybernetic eye powers on with a near-explosive jolt in time to watch the Highblood emerge from his shell like a grand insect. Panic surges in him as he wonders if they will be exposed - but, mercifully, it was too awkward an hour for a crowd and to most the Highblood spoke nonsense. Still, Sigma shudders; not because he was afraid what the Capitol might do, but because he was afraid of Kurloz.

It is by such terror that his tears dry up and his throat is forced full of air - Sigma takes a slow, deep breath. Blood begins to flow through his body again, the numbness he had felt earlier slips back into dormancy. The Initiate had not allowed the Capitol to defeat him, and Sigma must ask himself: where was the man who had unflinchingly walked to his doom? Where was the man who had stared through glass into utter annihilation - and had risen from the ashes as something greater? Akane would not have wasted time weeping over the past: she, too, would have laid bare the great legacy of her title. Sigma's grief is replaced with resolve, and after a few moments Zero awakens from the void he had been waiting from. He sits tall, regaining his composure; the mole wearing Sigma's face licks the blood from his lips. Someone else's words emerge from them; quiet, but with reverent grace. If Kurloz still existed, somewhere, they would reach him and he would understand.

"...Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,
Making the green one red..."

Macbeth had not been foolish to exchange his humanity for power.

[carnagecarnival]

"YOU UNDERSTAND?" He queries Sigma, just before the blood is gone from his lips. Bright red and human. Sigma sits straight, and pulls from himself the person what had been shown to him, in a vision of fear arenas past now. He sees that Sigma does indeed understand.

Zero. He almost forgot Sigma's other calling. His grin is cruel and approving. And those words, how apt they are. In all his reverence of those words, he did near forget their meaning, like one what breaks holy law and seeks then to undo their sin. Kurloz hears those words, eyes closing, breath leaving him. But the Highblood opens them again with that burning stare and grins.

"My hands," He drawls, "Are of your mother fucking color..."

He reaches out and places a cold hand upon Sigma's shoulder. "HE THANKS YOU, FOR YOUR WISDOM. Within the Carnival there will be deference paid to thee for your doing the holy work. IN GORE CLEANSED GLORY, WILL MUCH REJOICING BE MOTHERFUCKING HAD. You will be cast the finest stardust and most bitchin of brews." His hand lifts. He does not cut, but he is less careful with his claws than he has been in the past.

"TELL HIM. Have we more to discuss of value?"

[futilecycle]

It's a new attitude for the Initiate, though not unfamiliar; Sigma's son may not be of blood and yet they resemble eachother in other ways. It is fortunate that the Initiate remembers Zero, for it is in times like these that Sigma has trouble recognizing himself. His confidence may be manufactured and driven by necessity, but it is vastly preferable to the emotional wreck he's been the last three days. There was something to concentrate on and no energy left for guilt. He lifts his chin proudly, finding the strength to finish his report.

It was a great comfort to know that- at least in one universe- their efforts would be celebrated. "One last thing. I was also informed that our guests were returned to their proper place and time. It seems, since this entire process began, that death was merely their method of sending a Tribute back to their respective universe. As you must already know, it is by no means the end..." He thinks of the Psiionic, how he had returned to their world to live out more of his life. This news should come as no real surprise, but may, perhaps, be somehow reassuring. There was no need to grieve for anything but how their guest's lives would eventually take their course.

[carnagecarnival]

He's glad Sigma tells him now. He's glad because he's certain that his silenced self, hearing this, would not know what to do but break. Break in relief. Break in despair. Neither of which are things he can afford to do. No, here and now, he is stone-hearted.

"THE WICKED NEWS TRULY IS MOST WICKED," He muses aloud.

Death meant a return to home. All death. The only permanence lie in the death of their memories. The deaths of whom they'd become in greeting here. That, or he was doomed to one day face his future, knowing full well what it meant. He laughs again. There's bitter taste on his tongue, something not quite like blood.

"You have his gratitude... father." He falters only for that word. "MAY MESSIAHS BESTOW UPON WHAT STRENGTHS BE OF NEED. The holy two will be at our sides. WE WILL BE THEIR VOICE AND STRIKING HAND."